


Reliant Irony

by Pixelfun20



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: :), Angst, Don't worry Tubbo I love you you'll get a break eventually, Friendship, Gen, He's also not the nicest, Hurt/Comfort, The Election AU, To be fair though he's very stressed, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Tubbo is a BAMF the fic, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, You too Wilbur, heavily implied abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelfun20/pseuds/Pixelfun20
Summary: Tubbo makes a startling discovery a few weeks after the Election, which changes his perspective on everything. With no one to rely on but himself, Tubbo must work to rescue one Wilbur Soot from right under JSchlatt's nose.
Relationships: Eret & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 13
Kudos: 317





	Reliant Irony

**Author's Note:**

> Will I finish this? Probably, but it'll take a while. Props to the Mcyt writing discord server for helping me out in planning and writing this fic.

Tubbo didn’t mean to.

It had all been an accident, really. He’d gone down into the basement of JSchlatt’s base to go and get some supplies that had been requested. He shouldn’t have listened to the little, curious voice in the back of his head that had prompted him to explore the small trap door neatly hidden in the corner of the room. 

But he had. 

Tubbo scaled what seemed like hundreds of feet of ladders leading down, down into the depths of the earth. The air grew humid and musty, and as he reached the bottom, he realized something stank.

Blood. That was what he smelt. Blood and sweat, a scent that had become all too familiar to him in the last few months. Tubbo’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he thought of going back up and pretending this had never happened; he probably wasn’t allowed to be down here anyways.

But then his hands and feet kept on moving downwards, and soon enough he was almost completely covered in darkness. A few minutes later, the walls around him opened up, and his feet touched solid ground once again.

Tubbo tried to steady his breathing, and looked around.

He was in a small, dimly lit room, with only one block of glowstone in the corner casting a dim yellow light across to him. Tubbo squinted, noting a chair and a small table, some tools, and a chest. He looked across the room, freezing when he saw the iron bars sectioning off a portion of the room, nearly pitch-black, far away as it was from the glowstone. 

Silently, Tubbo’s feet carried him forwards. He pulled out a torch from his inventory, trying to get a better look as the stench of blood from earlier grew ever stronger.

A mat. Some hay, scattered across the floor. A bucket of dirty-looking water. And in the very back, a mass of something dark. 

Tubbo stepped forwards until he was nearly touching the bars, angling his torch for a better line of sight. 

White fabric, torn, dirty and bloody. Brown boots. It took Tubbo a solid five seconds to realize he was looking at a person, curled in the fetal position with their hands over their head, as if a cornered animal waiting to be struck.

The person moved, dirty, matted brown hair shifting until Tubbo found himself gazing into a single, chocolate-brown eye.

“...Tubbo…?”

The word was whispered, hoarse. He could hardly even hear it. 

Tubbo recognized that eye that stared up at him. The same eye had led him into battle, comforted him from nightmares, had been widened in fear, last he’d seen it.

Wilbur shifted slightly, looking like he was about to say something.

Tubbo didn’t wait to hear it.

He  _ ran _ .

* * *

He tried to ignore it. Really, he did. Tubbo ran away and tried to ignore the shaking of his hands, how fast his breaths came. He took a few moments to forget what had happened and delivered the supplies to JSchlatt, unable to look him in the eyes.

It just didn’t make any sense. Wilbur had escaped, escaped with Tommy off into the dense woodland outside of the Dream SMP and Manberg’s territory. They’d seen it happen; Tubbo had watched, frozen and powerless, as they’d raced off from the presidential stand, arrows hitting the ground behind them, missing by mere inches. They’d run off and Schlatt had his men standing watch for the two—now three, since Technoblade had joined them—in case they returned.

But… Wilbur hadn’t escaped, had he? Tubbo had seen him get struck by an arrow, seen him fall, half submerged in the lake and screaming for Tommy to run. The next arrow had flown true, and then Wilbur was gone, leaving a trail of bloodied water and dust in the wind. 

A second later Tommy had downed an invisibility potion and escaped.

He’d assumed Wilbur had just respawned a few hours later, back at his base, and had left and met up with Tommy that evening. That’s what Schlatt had said. Quackity had the bruises he’d gotten in the former president’s escape to prove it.

But they were wrong. 

Why, then? Wouldn’t Schlatt have paraded Wilbur around, if he’d been captured? Wouldn’t he have shouted it to the very hilltops? Wilbur was their biggest threat. Sure, Techno had the pvp skills, but had no prior knowledge or experience with the SMP. Tommy had the spirit, but he was too brash. As much as Tubbo loved that part of his (old) friend, it would only get him in trouble here. Wilbur had been the leader, the glue that kept them together. It had been like that during the first war, too. If Schlatt had captured him, why not announce it?

That night, he curled up in bed, the questions swirling in his mind.

Wilbur’s figure haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. He tossed and turned, nearly overwhelmed by the spectres of a man who he’d abandoned.

Somehow, he eventually drifted off, and caught a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up in the morning. Then he was off, grabbing a quick breakfast and some coffee to try and wake himself up, and went to go help build that office building Schlatt had him working on.

Soon enough he was absentmindedly placing down blocks, balancing hundreds of feet in the air. He was regretting not being able to sleep last night; by the time he went down to the ground to get resupplied, he’d almost fallen right off of the wall a grand total of three times.

Still, Schlatt expected it done, and soon, and Tubbo was going to make sure it happened. He was on thin ice as it was; as much as Schlatt expressed to him about how he was his right hand man, his friendship with Tommy had everyone’s eyes on him. Just as Niki withered under Schlatt’s rule, struggling to keep even her bakery afloat, Tubbo had to make sure he worked twice as hard to help belay the suspicious glances that were sent his way.

Another reason why he should have left that trapdoor alone.

He sat down on the curved hill at the base of the rising office complex with a sigh, finally giving in and deciding to rest for a few moments. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and let out a long sigh. 

He’d really gotten himself into a situation, hadn’t he?

“Tubbo? What are you doing, man?” He looked up, finding himself looking up at Eret. The king was dressed rather casually, with a green t-shirt and his typical sunglasses. He tilted his head a bit, lips twitching upwards as he didn’t get an immediate response. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, just tired,” Tubbo replied, relaxing slightly. Eret… he hadn’t talked to the man much, not since he’d betrayed L’Manberg back during the revolution. But he wasn’t Schlatt, Quackity, or George, who he’d been spending most of his time with lately. That already made him more comfortable. 

Something flickered across Eret’s face, too fast for Tubbo to figure out. After a moment, he sat down next to him.

“Are you sure?” He asked, more serious. “I just watched you almost walk right over the edge of the wall while you were building.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tubbo lied, trying to ignore how fast his heart was pumping. Count on Eret to only notice something off about him now, of all times. “Just-just a nightmare, is all. It kept me up for a while.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“...No,” Tubbo sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking away, though he could still feel Eret watching him. “It’s… private.”

“Alright,” Eret shrugged, letting the matter drop. They sat in silence for a while, as Tubbo fought the urge to drift off. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” He thought of the room, the smell of blood and sweat, and resisted gagging. “I ate earlier.”

Maybe he could just tell him. Eret, of all people, would know what to do, right? He could just tell Eret what he’d seen yesterday and let him deal with the moral dilemma. It would be so nice to be able to  _ talk _ to someone. 

But, Eret had betrayed him once before. He’d gone and gotten him killed and almost made L’Manberg lose the revolution. He’d left and gotten rich off of Dream, and made his own kingdom. When Schlatt had taken the presidency, he hadn’t said anything about it. Who was to say that, if he told Eret what had really happened to Wilbur, he wouldn’t just go to Schlatt? Then Tubbo would be in a deep pit of trouble for being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to.

“Well,” Eret sighed, jerking Tubbo out of his thoughts. He clapped the teen’s shoulder and stood up. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Come over to my place sometime; we can have dinner together and relax a bit.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, already knowing he wouldn’t take up the offer. 

“Seriously, Tubbo.” He looked up at the elder man. “It’s been an… eventful few weeks. It helps to talk to someone.”

The two exchanged pleasantries, and then Eret was off down the path, heading back to his castle. Tubbo watched him go, feeling more alone than ever.

  
  


* * *

That night, he dreamed of Tommy.

He was in a field, playing with his bees. Which was definitely an activity only dream-Tubbo would do because his bees were long dead, but his dream self didn’t know that, of course. He’d been watching them fly around, enraptured, when he heard footsteps come up behind him.

He turned around and Tommy was there, in his typical white shirt with the red sleeves, running up to him.

“Tubbo!” He called out. 

“Hi, Tommy!” Tubbo called back cheerfully. He ran towards his old friend, and they embraced each other tightly.

Which was strike number two for a dream, because Tommy never hugged anyone. He wasn’t really that kind of person. But again, dream-Tubbo didn’t register these kinds of things, and he was very much a hugger.

Tommy pulled away and grinned at him. 

“Wilbur said he has a surprise for us, Tubbo!” he said, clapping his hands. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Oh! What is it?”

Tommy didn’t answer him, instead pointing over his shoulder. “There he is!”

“Where?” Tubbo asked, turning around. He was met with a blank field. “Tommy, where is he?”

He looked back to his friend, but Tommy was gone. Tubbo looked around, confused and a little frightened, to find that his bees were gone as well. He took a step, and suddenly he was in the basement room again. Tubbo froze, looking around, but it was empty. 

“...Wilbur?” He called out.

And there was nothing. 

Nothing at all.

Tubbo’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself looking up at his bedroom ceiling, breathing heavily. Everything was quiet, save for the distant sound of crickets outside. He looked out the window, towards the moon. It had to be sometime in the early morning.

Something inside him felt… different. He was still scared, terrified really, but something in his core had hardened. Maybe it was seeing that fictional, happy version of Tommy his mind had made up, or the vision of the basement room, but soon enough he was throwing off the covers and getting out of bed.

He’d need supplies. Tubbo opened one of his chests and grabbed some beef and bread, almost left then and there but thought better of it and grabbed some water bottles, storing everything inside his inventory. Then he threw on the suit Schlatt had given him—it was the darkest article of clothing he had on hand—and was out the door. 

The midnight air was chilly and cold, but Tubbo pushed through it, ignoring how the wind cut through his poorly insulated jacket. He crossed Manberg territory, coming upon the building he’d been directed to get supplies from. He paused—George had watch tonight, but who would be looking for intruders inside Manberg territory? He pressed onwards, creaking the door open and sneaking inside as quietly as possible.

He ducked around a few chests, pushing one aside to reveal the small trap door he’d found two days ago. 

He was really going to do this, huh? Tubbo chuckled quietly to himself; he really had a death wish. What if someone saw him? What if he couldn’t keep the secret? What if he was betrayed? He could turn back now, he knew, turn back and put away the supplies and never come to this place again.

But he would never be able to look Tommy in the eyes, or Niki, or even Fundy or  _ himself _ . And he would never stop thinking about it, losing sleep about it, wondering  _ ‘what if?’ _

He opened the trapdoor and started going down the ladder.

Soon enough he was smelling the blood and sweat that had been haunting him over the last few days. Tubbo trembled a bit, nerves beginning to spike because  _ wow he was really doing this _ , but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop now. He just had to convince himself that was true.

He stepped on solid ground, wrapping his arms around himself as he looked through the damp room, eyes falling on the dark, sectioned off corner in the back.

“Wil?” He called out, and his voice was quiet. Shaky.  _ Scared _ . There was no response. “Wil, are you still here? I’m sorry I ran away.”

There was a sound from the back of the room, but Tubbo couldn’t figure out whether it was human or not. Slowly, he stepped forwards, pulling out a torch as he did so. This time, when he saw the figure curled up in the back corner, he didn’t freak out and run away, but his blood did run cold.

Last time, he’d seen Wilbur for a grand total of ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Now, as he looked closer, he realized how truly  _ terrible _ the elder man looked.

His outer coat, the bright blue L’Manberg coat Wilbur had once cherished, was in rags, held in place around his shoulders but not really much of a coat anymore. His shirt was in better condition, though the sleeves were ripped a bit and the cloth dirty with dust and blood. His pants were in much the same condition, and his feet were bare. Tubbo forced his eyes up, taking in the matted, tangled brown hair, and, finally, the wide brown eyes staring at him in astonishment. 

“Hey, Wil,” He said quietly, placing the torch on the wall. “I’m sorry I ran away. You scared me.”

“...Tubbo?” The word was hoarse, which was honestly really worrying, but it was there. Wilbur shifted a bit, but his eyes didn’t focus on him, instead laying on some point just above his shoulder. Tubbo glanced behind him, only to be met with an empty wall. 

“Yeah, it’s me, Tubbo,” he said, looking back at him. He grabbed a pickaxe out of his inventory and swiftly mined away two of the metal bars, giving him enough room to squeeze inside. The smell seemed to grow worse the closer he got to his old friend, which made his heart squeeze even more. “What happened?”

Wilbur blinked a few times, his eyes lagging about, as if struggling to focus on him. 

“You’re safe,” he replied instead.

“Y-yeah. I’m just fine, Wil.”

Wilbur’s lips curved upwards, but that quickly stopped as he abruptly burst into a flurry of coughs. Tubbo jumped, lurching back in surprise as he watched Wilbur’s whole body convulse on itself from the force of the coughs. It lasted for a solid thirty seconds, before finally fading and leaving Wilbur leaning against the back wall and his eyes fluttering. 

Unsure of what to do, Tubbo reached out to put his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, only to pull back when he violently flinched away from the touch. Wilbur’s head whipped back towards him, eyes wide, but then he relaxed and looked back down again.

“Sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “Forgot you were there.”

“It’s… it’s alright,” Tubbo stammered. Where had that come from? He shook his head and reached back into his inventory, pulling out one of the water bottles he’d grabbed, grateful he’d decided to take it. “Here. Your, uh,  _ water _ ,” he glanced at the dirty bucket in the other corner, and winced. “Doesn’t look too nice.”

Wilbur nodded, taking the water bottle with shaking hands. He tried to open the cap, only to fumble with it so badly he nearly dropped it.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Not feeling too well.”

Tubbo frowned, biting his lip. ‘Not feeling well,’ was probably an understatement. Wilbur looked  _ terrible, _ and for him to admit he wasn’t well… it made Tubbo more nervous.

“It’s alright,” he said, taking back the water bottle and uncapping it. He passed it back to Wilbur, who took it shakily. Tubbo kept a steadying hand as he drank like a dying man, emptying the bottle in a few minutes before sputtering and coughing a few more times. As he recovered, Tubbo brushed his hand against the elder man’s forehead, then pulled it away at the heat radiating from him. “Wil, you’re burning. I think you’re sick.”

Wilbur shrugged with a hum, leaning back a bit. His strength seemed to have left him. 

“Here, at least eat something,” Tubbo insisted, pulling out the bread from his inventory. At that, Wilbur looked back up at him, energy seeming to return to him at the mention of food. Tubbo tore off a chunk of the bread, and Wilbur took it almost frantically, and it was gone within a few moments. 

How long had it been since he had last eaten? Tubbo hadn’t seen someone eat like this before; he tore off another hunk of bread and passed it to him. Whatever had been happening to Wilbur down here, he hadn’t been fed well. How long had he been like this, sitting, sick and starving, under the ground while his former friends lived happily up on the surface? How long had Schlatt been doing this? How long did he expect it to go on for?

What was he supposed to do?

And suddenly Tubbo felt just as sick as Wilbur looked.

What  _ was _ he going to do? What was his plan here? He was here now, sure, but Wilbur didn’t look well enough to get up the ladder, let alone try and escape Manberg. Even if they made it out, George was out on guard duty, and Wilbur was dressed in white. Dirty white, but white nonetheless. And if, by some miracle, they escaped, where would they go? Tubbo hadn’t spoken to Tommy since the election, much less knew where he was.

For a moment, a crushing sense of hopelessness settled over him. What was he supposed to do, worry endlessly over Wilbur and watch him wither away at night, all while fearing what Schlatt would do if he found out?

“Wil?” he said quietly. Wilbur, who had just finished the last bit of bread, looked over at him. “I can’t stay now, but I’m going to help you, alright? I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

* * *

This was going to be harder than he thought.

Tubbo was currently sitting on top of the scaffolding that was helping shape the office building he was sitting on. It was coming along quite nicely, if he was honest. It was easy, if tedious work, and let him think about other things as he placed the blocks and tried not to fall off because  _ man _ was he tired from not sleeping much two nights in a row.

Still, it was nearing noon now, and Tubbo had taken a break, pulling out a pad of paper and a quill. The first page had been split into two columns, one labelled  _ Problems  _ and the other  _ Solutions _ .

Now that he was actually about to write things out, this whole Wilbur rescue operation thing seemed even more real. He was actually committing to this, was he?

Tubbo shook his head, dipping the quill in some ink and writing  _ ladder _ under  _ Problems _ . That ladder was going to be tricky. Wilbur hardly looked like he could stand in his current state, much less go up a 40-foot ladder. How would he get him up that thing?

Mining a staircase would probably be the best idea. It’d take a little while, perhaps longer than he wanted it to, but that way Tubbo would be able to help Wilbur up and save strength for when they made it out of the basement and had to cross open land. He’d have to time it right, though. Underneath  _ Solutions,  _ he wrote  _ Mining (time?) _ .

Okay. He gets Wilbur out of the basement. Now they’re in the storage room, right in the middle of Manberg. What does he think of next?

Watch. Jschlatt always has someone on watch in case something went wrong or Tommy, Techno, or Wilbur (except the latter was already well within Manberg’s walls) attacked. Luckily for him, Schlatt had him on the watchbill, so the solution was easy enough.  _ Watch _ went under  _ Problems  _ and  _ Own Shift _ under Solutions.

One silver lining was that now that the walls weren’t there anymore, it would be easier to cross the border. At least something good had come out of that. As long as Tubbo got Wilbur during his shift, he should be able to cross into Dream’s SMP territory easily enough.

Which brought him to his next problem.  _ Where to go?  _ went under  _ Problems _ . 

Now that would be a beast to tackle, because Tubbo didn’t have a clue. He would find no sanctuary in the Dream SMP; tensions still ran high with JSchlatt’s expansionist actions, and with George so close to Quackity, he didn’t doubt that if Dream, Skeppy, or anyone else caught him that they wouldn’t hesitate to drag him back to Manberg. No, he’d have to go the other way, cross the river and head to the unclaimed forest. Tubbo may not know where Tommy was, but Ponk had gotten killed by him during the whole “Techno joining the Server” fiasco, and reported that Tommy had been leading Techno into the forest. It didn’t narrow down the search much, but it was a decent starting point.

Okay. He wrote  _ Forest _ under solutions. He would have to get a boat to cross the river, too, so he added  _ Boat _ as well. 

Alright, he’s made it out of Manberg, hopefully without raising the alarm. He’s crossed the river and now he’s entered the forest. By this point he doubts Wilbur would be able to go on for much longer, if at all, and there aren’t any structures out in that area. They’d need a place to hide. Which meant Tubbo was going to have to make something in advance. _ Make Shelter _ joined  _ Forest  _ and  _ Boat  _ under  _ Solutions. _

Clothes were also an issue. Wilbur’s coat was barely hanging together by the strings, and the rest of his outfit wasn’t exactly much better. Not only that, but he was in white, thin clothing, and the forest got awfully cold at night. None of Tubbo’s clothes would fit him, he was too small. Under  _ Problem _ he wrote  _ Clothing _ , thought for a moment, then put  _ Steal Clothes? _ Under solutions.

Then there was the fact that Wilbur was sick. Tubbo knew how to treat injuries; the Revolution had been a trial by fire in that regard, but he knew nothing about actual medicine. Fundy did, and had taken care of him and Tommy that one time they’d both caught the stomach flu, but even then Tubbo doubted Wilbur just had the stomach bug.

_ Sick _ went under  _ Problems _ , but Tubbo found himself at a loss for what to put under  _ Solutions _ . 

“Hey! Tubbo!”

Tubbo jumped at the distant sound, looking down towards the source. His stomach dropped to his feet as he recognized, even from his height, the dark suit and ram horns that signalled JSchlatt’s arrival. Fumbling with his book and quill, he tucked the two items into his inventory and dumped a water bucket, using the water flow to get to the ground easily.

“U-uh, hey, Schlatt,” he said, trying to calm his nerves. Over the past few days, he’d been doing his best to avoid the president of Manberg. Had he noticed? “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Schlatt smiled, and it felt even colder than usual. “Good job on the office building, Tubbo. You’re doing well.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Here, I have some things I need to discuss with my right hand man. How about you and I have lunch together?”

“I can’t!” The words slip out of his mouth without giving himself a chance to think of a reason  _ why _ he couldn’t share lunch with Schlatt. As Schlatt’s smile began to fall, Tubbo turned to the first thing that popped into his head. “I, uh, sorry. Eret’s already asked me to have lunch with him. And, uh, I figured it’s best that I go because I’ve already committed and I don’t want to make an enemy out of him. You know. Public relations and all that.”

Schlatt folded his arms, considering, and Tubbo resisted the urge to flinch under his gaze. Finally, the elder man sighed.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I was hoping to see you after these last few days. But duty calls, I suppose.” He put a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, and he had to resist a flinch. “Make sure our dear king knows there is always a place for him here, alright? Manberg doesn’t hold grudges.”

Tubbo nodded numbly, and with a wink, Schlatt was gone with a flourish of his suit coat, heading down to the street below. Once he was out of sight, Tubbo groaned, putting the palms of his hands to his eyes.

He was so  _ dead.  _ Now he had to go have a meal with Eret or Schlatt would know something was up. With a sigh, he ran a hand over his face—he was so  _ tired _ —he shoved his hands in his pockets and began walking away from the office building and out to Manberg’s borders. Figuring out how to free Wilbur would have to wait for another time. He’d just have to start working on what he’d already had on hand.

* * *

“Is everything going well?” Eret asked. Tubbo looked up from where he’d been picking at his food, and shrugged.

“Fine, I guess,” he replied. “Lots of changes to get used to.”

Eret regarded him with an expression that was almost suspicion, before shrugging and returning to his meal. The two of them were eating lunch together in Eret’s castle, the dining room table seeming to have been made to host large numbers of people. With only Eret and himself there, the room seemed so large, yet so suffocating.

Eret had been surprised to see him show up for the proposed shared meal, but had been happy to let him in nonetheless. Still, Tubbo felt kind of bad for just coming unannounced and then hardly interacting with the man. And then he felt bad for feeling bad because this was  _ Eret _ , who’d gladly sold him out to Dream hardly a few months earlier in order to grab some foreign crown.

He stabbed his fork on a bit of meat and dragged it across the plate for a bit before finally forcing it into his mouth. His appetite had been shot lately. Even though Tubbo knew that he’d need all the energy he could in the days to come, he kept on thinking of Wilbur, and then practically every food felt unappealing.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Eret’s words snapped Tubbo out of his thoughts, and he looked over at the king, waiting for him to continue with whatever he was talking about. “Tommy, I mean.”

Tubbo froze, keeping his eyes trained on his plate.

“No, I don’t. He was a traitor and mean to me anyways.”

There was a clatter of a fork hitting a plate.

“That’s bullshit Tubbo and you know it. That’s Schlatt talking, not you.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Tubbo found himself shooting back. “What would you know about it?!”

He regretted the words almost instantly, not because he might've offended Eret and more because he’d just implied that he really didn’t miss Tommy, which made his heart ache. Still, the frustration in his gut was still there, and Tubbo stabbed at another bit of steak, shoving it into his mouth so he’d have an excuse to stop talking for a bit.

“I would know quite a bit about that, actually,” Eret said softly. Tubbo sent him a low look as he swallowed.

“You chose to leave us, so shove it,” he muttered, well aware he was being terribly rude but so tired and  _ done _ that he didn’t care. “You left and wasn’t that the right choice to make; to get out while you still could? Now I’m stuck  _ here _ and I’m  _ alone  _ and I only came because eating an awkward meal with  _ you _ got me out of Manberg for an hour!”

He didn’t realize that he was crying until he saw the drop of water hit the plate below him. Frustrated with himself, he sniffled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. The material of the suit scraped uncomfortably against his eyelids. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, the thumb rubbing calming circles into his shoulder blade.

Tubbo broke. Everything seemed to be crashing down at once. He was stressed, alone, Wilbur was sick and starving, Tommy was missing and he’d been left  _ alone _ . All his hard work, for nothing, and he was stuck under Schlatt and Fundy was totally buying into it and he hardly saw Niki anymore. And he was plain  _ exhausted _ , in mind, body, and spirit.

He burst into tears. Vaguely, he was aware of Eret swiftly moving, pulling him out of his chair. They sat together on the cold, stoney floor and Tubbo pretended Eret had never left at all and just cried into his shirt. He sobbed until he was gasping for breath, feeling an all-encompassing  _ hurt _ that pierced into his soul.

Eret rubbed comforting circles into his back, humming softly under his breath, and Tubbo leaned into the touch. How long had it been, since he’d been held like this? Long before L’Manberg was founded. Maybe before the SMP. It was nice.

Even if he couldn’t trust the person who was holding him so comfortingly.

Finally, Tubbo pulled away, sniffling as he wiped his nose. A horrific sense of embarrassment rose up in him. Damn, had he really just done that?

“Sorry,” He mumbled under his breath, trying to ignore how his breath hitched. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I think you did,” Eret replied, his voice still soft. “And you deserve to feel that way.”

Tubbo frowned, wondering what the elder man was getting at. But Eret just patted his shoulder, standing up and offering Tubbo his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it and stood up.

“Do you want to use my bathroom?” Eret asked. Tubbo paused for a second, then nodded. “It’s just down the hall. You can always come over and talk to me, if you need to. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Tubbo mumbled, already walking away. Crying had felt… nice, even if it had been right in front of Eret, of all people. He felt lighter now, more sure in his steps and of the plan he’d concocted on the way here. As he turned into the hallway leading out of the dining room and passed out of Eret’s sight, he paused for a moment.

After that moment, he burst into a silent sprint. He’d been at Eret’s castle a few times before, enough to have a general idea of where everything was, and now he needed to rely on that. He had an idea, but he needed to be quick for it to work.

He sprinted past the open bathroom, turned a corner, and almost ran right into a large pair of doors. Pausing to look back the way he came (empty hallway), he pushed the doors open, wincing at the low creak, and stepped into Eret’s master bedroom.

Now, this room he hadn’t been in before. It was pretty big, but most of it wasn’t really being used. Instead, there was a small, sectioned off portion of the room. Tubbo stepped forwards and peeked inside, finding a twin bed tucked into the corner, with a desk and a few books. Not what he wanted, but he stayed there for a second. It looked kind of sad. Clearly he must have planned for some kind of grand bedroom, considering the architecture of it, but he’d clearly given up on that idea for whatever reason.

Tubbo shook himself. He only had so long until Eret grew suspicious of him. Moving away from the furniture, he looked around until finding his quarry, a closet near the sectioned-off portion of the room. He rushed towards it and threw the door open, immediately coming face-to-face with a walk-in closet, full of different kinds of clothes.

Tubbo hurried inside, pushing aside suits and jackets to reach the shirts he saw hanging near the back. He went for the ones that looked the most dusty, the least used, and grabbed three, then picked up a few pairs of jeans that wouldn’t be noticed for a little while. He shoved them and a worn pair of tennis shoes into his inventory, then took a deep breath, turning to the crown jewel of the closet.

Eret’s red, heavy king’s cloak was carefully taken off of it’s pedestal and tucked away. Tubbo turned around, ready to leave and pretend he’d just taken a while in the bathroom, when something caught his attention. He turned a bit, pushing aside some stray coats to get a better look.

Hung up on the wall was a rather worn but well cared for L’Manberg uniform.

Really?  _ Really? _ He’d kept that thing after stabbing them all in the back? Suddenly Tubbo didn’t feel too bad for stealing from him.

But maybe he did. Tubbo didn’t know anymore; his feelings were jumbled up and everything was so confusing. He shook himself and tossed the thoughts out of his head. Focus on the plan and Wilbur. That was all that really mattered. 

He returned the coats to their place, covering up the old uniform, and swiftly exited the room. Schlatt would be expecting him in Manberg soon, anyways.

But now he was taking his first steps into actually going with his plan. There was no going back now.

Good. The sooner he got Wilbur out of here, the better.


End file.
